Here Comes Peter Cottontail
by Tiffany Park
Summary: Another holiday, another SGC charity event. Very loose sequel to "You Better Watch Out..."


TITLE: Here Comes Peter Cottontail  
AUTHOR: Tiffany Park  
EMAIL: twilite@sprynet.com   
STATUS: Complete  
CATEGORY: Humor, Easter  
SPOILERS: None  
SEASON: Season Two  
PAIRINGS: None  
RATING: PG-13  
CONTENT WARNINGS: Language, innuendo, and trashy behavior  
SUMMARY: Another holiday, another SGC charity event. Very loose sequel to "You Better Watch Out..."  
ARCHIVE: Just here.  
DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: There are excessive amounts of artistic license involved here. Beware the dreadful fanfic clichés. You'll know 'em when you see 'em.

* * *

**Here Comes Peter Cottontail  
**

**by**   
**Tiffany Park**

  


Colonel Robert Makepeace--SG-3 team commander; veteran of the Gulf War, the Beirut bombings, the peacekeeping operation in Somalia, and numerous combat actions; recipient of two Purple Hearts, the Silver Star, and the Navy and Marine Corps Medal for heroism--was hiding under his desk. 

The source of his anxiety stood just outside his office, knocking politely on his locked door. 

The fact that it wasn't loud, obnoxious, demanding knocking made it all the worse. Makepeace cringed a little at his behavior, but didn't come out. It was a sad day, he reflected sourly, when he was reduced to cowering in his office, but he'd learned his lesson last Christmas: At holiday time it was best to keep your head down and your mouth shut. 

"Colonel Makepeace, are you in there?" a feminine voice queried sharply. "Colonel?" 

The doorknob rattled. He jumped at the sound, and barely repressed an oath when he banged his head on the underside of his desk. He covered his mouth with both hands and hoped like hell that Doctor Fraiser hadn't heard him. His current position would be too embarrassing to explain. 

Apparently she hadn't, since the call wasn't repeated. Another woman spoke, her words slightly muffled through the wonderful barricade of his door: "Maybe he's already gone home." Carter. 

Fraiser replied, "He forgot to turn off his lights, then." 

"Like you've never done that." 

Makepeace hadn't had enough warning to switch off the lights before the two women arrived at his office. As it was, he'd barely managed to lock the door, bolt across the room, and get under his desk in time. 

He heard an indelicate grunt. Then, "I guess tomorrow's soon enough." 

Fraiser did not sound pleased. Makepeace wouldn't have put it past her to try to find a way to break in. Fortunately, Carter had a few scruples and wouldn't let her do anything like that. Probably. He stayed still and quiet as a sniper. 

The sound of receding footsteps was accompanied by soft laughter and almost inaudible conversation. He couldn't make out the words, but that was okay. He really didn't want to know. He waited until he couldn't hear them anymore, then crawled out from under his desk. 

Fraiser and Carter had been making the rounds, recruiting for another of those interminable charity activities. This time it was the Chrysalis House Shelter for Disadvantaged Families. Certainly it was a good cause, but why on Earth couldn't the SGC just pass the hat and take up a collection like anywhere else? He straightened up and stretched, working the kinks out of his cramped muscles. Community service was all well and good, but why did it always have to be done in such a ridiculous way at this particular base? 

Easter was just around the corner. God only knew what those two had cooked up between them--with General Hammond's sanction, no doubt. 

Makepeace knew he'd have to face the music sometime. He couldn't stay hidden in his office forever, after all. But hell, he just didn't want to deal with it today. There were only another twenty minutes until the end of his shift, and if the dynamic duo caught him he'd be stuck here listening to their pitch for who knew how long. And if they had the general's backing-- 

He was doomed. He just knew it. The only thing he could do was delay the inevitable. 

He half expected them to be camped out by his car, ready to ambush him. He waited an extra half hour before he left for the night, just in case.

* * * * * * *  


The next morning, it was all Colonel Makepeace could do to keep himself from slinking through the base like a whipped cur. He felt somewhat abashed over his behavior the previous night; but even so, he still didn't want to get caught by the charity brigade, and was determined to stay unobtrusive. 

He was startled by the ruckus that suddenly erupted a little ways down the corridor. Jack O'Neill's office. Figured. SG-1 could be a rather...tempestuous bunch when the mood struck them. Makepeace idly wondered what--or who--had set O'Neill off this time. 

"Aw, come on, Carter. You have got to be kidding me!" Colonel O'Neill's outraged words thundered out of the partially open doorway. 

"Don't be such a baby, Jack." There was laughter in Doctor Jackson's voice. "It's for a good cause." 

Makepeace paused by the door, eavesdropping. This had potential. 

"But why me?" O'Neill whined. "Why not Makepeace?" 

Carter replied, "Because we couldn't fi--" She stopped, then tried again, "Because Colonel Makepeace graciously played Santa Claus at Christmas." 

"Yeah, and I heard he was great at it," O'Neill said testily. "So why can't he do this, too? Man, I'd pay money to see that. Big money." 

"It's only fair that you take a turn, sir," she said in a conciliatory tone. 

"But the goddamn _Easter Bunny_--" 

The last vestiges of Makepeace's embarrassment about last night vanished. Now, what had felt like craven cowardice suddenly seemed the height of common sense. He congratulated himself on his narrow escape. 

"What is the 'Easter Bunny'?" Teal'c asked. Jackson made a choked noise. 

O'Neill snapped, "You think it's so funny, you explain it, Daniel." 

Makepeace had never been sure just how much of Teal'c's ignorance was real, and how much feigned. The Jaffa always maintained such a perfect poker face that it was usually impossible to tell. He had been on Earth for over a year now, so he would certainly have suffered through the complete set of holidays. And Doctor Jackson's reaction to his question was telling, although not necessarily definitive. Probably, Makepeace decided, Teal'c was just yanking O'Neill's chain. Always a worthy endeavor. 

Amused, he started down the hall again. Behind him, O'Neill continued to bluster: "Carter, that costume better not be pink--" 

He put some distance between himself and the loony bin, and the ranting faded. He rounded a corner and almost collided with General Hammond. He quickly apologized, and the general gave him a bland look. 

"That's okay, Colonel," Hammond said. A pause, then, "You'll be attending the meeting at 0900?" 

"Yes, sir." He wondered why Hammond even needed to ask. 

"Good, good. We've all got some brainstorming to do." 

"Brainstorming, sir?" 

"Fundraising. We need something that the whole base can get behind." The general smiled--a scary smile, in Makepeace's opinion--and continued on his way.

* * * * * * *  


Makepeace pivoted and grabbed Johnson, hauled the lieutenant off the ground and onto one hip, then slammed him into the mat. "Did you have to be so enthusiastic about that idea?" 

After Hammond's meeting, SG-3 had gone to the gym to practice hand to hand techniques. They had started with some warmup exercises, then had quickly moved on to easy throws and takedowns. They all enjoyed the activity and played with gusto. 

"I just said I thought it sounded kind of fun," Johnson replied defensively. He stood up and readied himself for another go. "I haven't seen anything that silly since high school." He moved inside Makepeace's guard, caught his shoulders and applied leverage. At the same time, he kicked out a foot, swept it back against one of Makepeace's legs. Makepeace went down, slapping the mat to absorb the energy of impact. 

As he helped his CO back to his feet, Johnson said, "You know we could all stand to lighten up a bit. You've complained about the stress levels yourself." The two men squared off again. 

"But a charity slave auction? Take me now, Lord." Makepeace gazed beseechingly heavenward, but kept up his guard. 

"Oh, come on, sir," Johnson said. "I don't see what's so terrible about it. Inconvenient, sure, but nothing awful. So you'll have to do someone's weeding or housework for a day. Big deal." He stepped forward and threw a textbook punch at Makepeace's face. 

Makepeace blocked the strike, grabbed Johnson's arm and flipped him. Johnson had barely completed the forward roll when Makepeace dropped down beside him and put a wristlock on him. "Jack O'Neill came up with it. That alone should have told you everything you needed to know about it." He cranked down on the hold until Johnson tapped the mat. "He's got an ulterior motive." 

Johnson exhaled loudly and sat up. "Don't you think that's a bit paranoid, sir?" 

"Easy for you to say. Nobody tagged you for sale." 

Both men were kneeling on the mat. Johnson dived forward and caught Makepeace, tangling up his arms and legs. At the first opening, he attempted to shift his grip into a choke hold. In response, Makepeace grabbed the offending arm and pulled downward, dropping his chin and turning his face, so the lieutenant couldn't choke him out. 

Johnson said to his captive audience, "I agree with the general. It's good for morale to see senior officers do that kind of stuff on occasion. Besides, would it really make you feel any better if the rest of us got stuck, too?" He tightened up the choke. 

"Yeah, it would," Makepeace grunted breathlessly, keeping his chin down to protect his throat. "Misery loves company." 

Instead of tapping out, Makepeace snaked a hand inside Johnson's arm, found a pressure point and dug in hard with his thumb. Johnson hissed, and his hold loosened. With a quick, twisting maneuver Makepeace slipped free. The two men wrangled a bit more before Makepeace managed to get the upper hand and pinned Johnson to the mat. 

They quit grappling and got back on their feet. Quick as a striking cobra, Makepeace moved in and threw Johnson again, hanging on to one of his arms and putting it into an armbar, effectively immobilizing his opponent. 

"No fair, sir," Johnson said, grinning. 

"You know how the saying goes: Old age and treachery will overcome youth and skill." 

"Especially treachery. It was my turn." 

"Bitch, bitch, bitch." Makepeace gave him a hand up. 

"You know, Johnson," a sardonic voice drawled behind them, interrupting the lighthearted exchange, "an enemy won't be polite and take turns." 

The Marines turned around. Colonel O'Neill leaned against a wall, his hands shoved in his pant pockets with studied nonchalance. 

"Master of the obvious." Makepeace rolled his eyes, then smiled wolfishly. "Feel like going a few rounds?" he offered. 

O'Neill shook his head. "Some other time." He eyed the sweaty man, surveying him from head to foot and back again with a proprietary air. 

"What do you want, Jack?" Makepeace asked, irked by the unsubtle examination. 

O'Neill ignored him. "Take it easy on him, Lieutenant," he advised Johnson. "Try not to damage the merchandise. He shouldn't go up for sale all bruised." 

Johnson raised his brows, looking entertained. 

Makepeace scowled. "Okay, so you're here to gloat." 

"Who, me?" O'Neill was the picture of innocence. 

"Yeah, yeah. Just get it over with and go away already." 

A slow, sly smile spread over O'Neill's features, and he inspected Makepeace again. "Did you know Doctor Shore's already agreed to be the auctioneer? I made a special point of asking her myself." 

"I just bet you did," Makepeace growled. That particular physicist was an incorrigible flirt who had a knack for embarrassing the hell out of her victims. On the bright side, as auctioneer she probably wouldn't be bidding on anyone. Particularly, himself. He'd been mildly concerned by some of the comments she'd made after Hammond's meeting. In retaliation, Makepeace jeered, "At least I'm not the Easter Bunny. I hear the costume is pink and fuzzy." 

O'Neill favored him with a smug look. "Which is why I don't have to go up on the block, and you do." He smirked. "Since I have to suffer, so does everyone else. There's more than enough humiliation to go around in the name of a good cause." 

"Figures," Makepeace muttered. 

"Try to remember it's all in good fun. Or so General Hammond likes to claim." O'Neill smiled sunnily. "Well, I think I've spread enough happiness and cheer for the day. See you at the auction." He waggled his fingers and exited the gym, whistling. 

The Marines stared after him, Johnson bemused, Makepeace resigned. 

"Guess you're not paranoid after all, Colonel. He did have an ulterior motive," Johnson said. His lips twitched. "Like you said, sir, misery loves company." 

Makepeace grunted.

* * * * * * *  


"A hundred dollars? Oh, come on, ya'll can do better than that," Doctor Barbara Shore's thick Southern drawl reverberated out of the strategically placed loudspeakers. "We have here a prime, Grade A specimen of United States Air Force manhood in peak physical condition. Why, just think of how useful he'll be around the house, fixin' and paintin' stuff, mowin' the lawn and pullin' weeds. And he's decorative, too. A hundred dollars is an insult, isn't it, hon?" she said to her current victim, who was standing on the stage to her right. 

Decked out in dress blues, Major Ferretti affected a look of clownish sadness. He nodded and hung his head like an old hound dog, provoking laughter from the overlarge audience. The community center's banquet hall was packed, all the tables full. Sneaking a peek from backstage, Makepeace thought that the entire base had shown up for the big event--and that each person had brought every living friend and relative they owned. Obviously, there was a large and probably malicious appeal to the rank and file in seeing the SGC's team leaders, section heads, and assorted other authority figure types paraded around and auctioned off like cattle. At thirty bucks a head just to attend, the fund-raiser was already off to a great start. 

"See?" Shore said. "How can I even consider letting an officer and gentleman like this go for a mere hundred dollars? He's worth twice that, at least." 

"Yeah, but he's got chicken legs," a heckler called out. He sounded suspiciously like one of Ferretti's guys, Technical Sergeant Chen. 

Shore cocked a brow and made a huge point of examining Ferretti's blue clad gams. She shook her elegantly-coifed head and, with a completely straight face, spoke into the microphone at her podium: "They look fine to me." 

"You ain't seen him in the locker room!" a second heckler jeered. That voice belonged to another of Ferretti's team, Lieutenant Tommy Madison. 

"Aw, is that an invitation? How sweet." Shore leered comically, as hoots and grunts erupted from the male audience members. 

Major Kovacek, who was next in line to go up on Shore's auction block, whispered conspiratorially to his fellow off-stage auctionees, "I'll bet he's just so thrilled to know how much his buddies love him." 

Makepeace made a rude noise. "He's having the time of his life. Ferretti loves being the center of attention. He should've been an actor." 

"He's not shy, that's for sure." Kovacek laughed outright. "Check him out now," he added, pointing. 

On the stage, a grinning Ferretti had struck a silly macho-muscleman pose, which was rendered even more absurd by the USAF's trademark blue suit. Amid the audience's laughter and more posturing from the major, the bidding grew spirited, and Ferretti went for a whopping four hundred dollars. It was the highest price fetched so far. 

"Something to learn from that, I think," Kovacek remarked. 

"All the world loves a clown?" Major Castleman said, smirking. "Who knows, maybe shrinking violets would have even bigger appeal." 

"They might provoke more commentary, at any rate. My team, at least, has a mean streak a mile wide." 

"They're a bunch of overeducated lawyers." 

"Meanest of the mean." Kovacek sighed and looked mournful. "You'll see." 

The winning bidder came up to the stage. Shore shook the woman's hand and rather theatrically presented her with her new "slave." The audience clapped with enthusiasm. Ferretti took a good-natured bow and followed his temporary "owner" back to her table. 

Shore returned to her podium and made a show of shuffling her papers. She looked out at the sea of expectant faces. "All right, now, let's move right along. Next up is Major Stanley Kovacek." She made a flamboyant "ta-daa" gesture, beckoning her next victim forward. 

"That's my cue." Kovacek tugged at his blue service coat a little self-consciously. "Stage fright, here I come." He squared his shoulders against the coming fun and games, and marched onstage. He was greeted with applause and a few cheers and wolf-whistles. 

Shore started in on a new spiel: "Major Kovacek here is one hundred and ninety pounds of pure muscle." She poked at his bicep. "Perfect for all those household tasks you've been putting off 'cause they were just too icky. Although, really, manual labor would be such a waste. This lovely man's a diplomat and a lawyer--" 

"And we all know what they're good for!" Lieutenant Mason of SG-9 razzed. 

"Now, honey, is that any way to talk about your boss?" Shore waggled her eyebrows. 

"It's the only way." 

SG-9 had gathered near the front of the stage. They started telling remarkably uncomplimentary lawyer jokes with their CO in the starring role. Some of the jibes were downright startling. Kovacek certainly knew his people. 

Makepeace hadn't realized that supposedly educated lawyers could be so...crude. Rather Marine-like, in fact. Who knew? His own team better not behave like that when he went out on the stage. It was a good thing that everyone was getting a bye on bad behavior for the duration of the party, he reflected as SG-9 made a few more cracks. Under other circumstances they'd get slapped down for insubordination. Although he had absolutely no doubt at all that Kovacek would get back some of his own later, in his own unique way. 

Shore rapped her gavel several times when the commentary showed signs of derailing the auction. "Now, now, that's enough of that," she reproved Kovacek's teammates, her censure belied by the unladylike smirk on her face. "Let's get this bidding started, already. Who'll give me fifty dollars for this fine lawyer? Remember, it's tax deductible, and he can probably help you out with that--" 

Makepeace turned away from the stage and went back to the waiting area. He and the remaining auctionees snacked, B.S.ed, and watched their numbers gradually dwindle as the afternoon progressed. About forty minutes later it was Makepeace's turn on the sale rack. As he got ready to go on-stage, he saw Doctor Fraiser take Shore's place at the podium. The two women had a short laugh about something, then Shore joined the audience, taking a seat near the front of the stage. 

Makepeace grimaced. Looked like he might be in for an even more uncomfortable time than he had expected. 

Fraiser tapped on the mike to check it. The speakers emitted a shrill squeal, and the audience members groaned. She winced and dropped her hand. "Sorry about that." She looked down at the notes Shore had left her. "Okay, next on the list is Colonel Robert Makepeace." She glanced expectantly in his direction. 

He flicked a last bit of imaginary lint off his uniform, took a deep breath, and headed onto the stage to stand beside the podium. Belatedly he realized the audience was clapping, although he hadn't even registered the noise. In what he hoped appeared as casual movement, he hid his hands in his pants pockets and wiped the sweat from his palms. And Kovacek had said he had stage fright. Makepeace thought his heart was going to leap straight up his throat. 

Fraiser read from a paper, "Colonel Makepeace is a twenty-four year veteran of the U.S. Marine Corps, in excellent physical condition. He has practical experience in a wide variety of special operations with unusual weapons--" Her eyes suddenly widened, and she stopped dead. She directed a glare at Shore. "What on Earth were you thinking when you wrote this?" 

Shore smirked. "All part of the show, hon," she said to Fraiser. The audience snickered. Makepeace felt his face heat even as he wondered what that intro actually said (he had his suspicions), and whether Shore had really intended it to be read aloud, or whether she had just wanted to inspire or perhaps torture her substitute emcee. The latter option, he hoped. There was such a thing as going too far, after all. 

A few foolhardy souls called out for Fraiser to keep reading. She threw Makepeace an apologetic look. He looked back as blandly as he could manage. The good doctor had a heart--or at least a strong sense of self-preservation--and gaveled the rowdies down. 

"It says he'd be great for painting your house. Bidding will start at fifty dollars," she said, looking rather prim. 

"Fifty," came a male voice from the center of the room--Lieutenant Johnson's voice. Startled, Makepeace turned his head in the direction of SG-3's table. He had expected them to just sit back and enjoy the show. Maybe Johnson felt sorry for him after that horribly embarrassing introduction. Would wonders never cease? 

"Make it seventy-five." Shore entered the bidding with a cheerful grin. No surprises there, at any rate. 

"Eighty-five." 

"Ninety." 

A third bidder entered the fray. "One hundred." Jack O'Neill. Makepeace didn't even try to hide his scowl. That was Not Good. O'Neill beamed up at him smugly from his table. The rest of SG-1, sitting with their CO, looked a little surprised. 

"A hundred and ten." Good old Johnson. Makepeace was going to have to do something nice for him, especially if he pulled off this particular rescue operation. Pay him back the money he was putting up, at the very least. 

"One twenty-five," Shore said. 

"One hundred and fifty." 

O'Neill said, "Two hundred." The very picture of unconcern, he had leaned back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach. 

Makepeace's own stomach gave a lurch. 

"Two ten," said Shore. 

Johnson had a hurried conference with his other teammates, then said, "Four hundred dollars." 

"Five hundred," said O'Neill, rather laconically. 

Johnson gave Makepeace a deflated look and shook his head fractionally. 

Resigning himself to what now seemed inevitable, Makepeace shrugged back at him. It was amazing how one's perspective could change so quickly: Compared with the alternative, Shore didn't seem such a worrisome proposition. A veritable savior, in fact. Maybe she still had a chance. She was an attractive woman, after all, and he'd once heard that she gave a mean back rub. 

He glanced at O'Neill's table. With the sole exception of their fearless leader, the members of SG-1 appeared mystified by the recent turn of events. Teal'c had raised a brow in that Spock-like fashion of his, and Carter was giving O'Neill a funny look. Jackson leaned over and said something, but O'Neill waved him off. 

Shore, obviously too caught up in the moment to think clearly, offered seven hundred dollars. The banquet hall grew hushed. Makepeace inhaled sharply. This was such a completely unreal experience. At the same time, the whole situation was weirdly flattering. He was honest enough to admit that he'd be preening if he weren't so paranoid. If only Jack O'Neill wasn't one of the bidders. 

"Fourteen hundred," O'Neill countered loudly, doubling the previous bid. He threw a challenging look at his physicist-rival, daring her to top that ungodly amount. The last few conversations in the room ceased. Clutching her gavel in a white-knuckled grip, Fraiser waited, watching the two competitors. She looked taken aback. 

Small wonder. 

Shore shrugged and held up her hands in defeat. "Sorry, hon," she said, tossing Makepeace a look full of both regret and amusement. "Way too rich for my blood." She grinned evilly. "You must really be something." 

Someone called out, "He's doomed, you know." Makepeace thought that an accurate statement, and barely held back a wince as the spell was broken and the audience roared with laughter. The floodgates opened, and a great deal of inflammatory and downright insulting commentary came gushing out. Makepeace clenched his jaw and forced himself to stand still, when what he really wanted to do was run off the stage and find a hole somewhere to hide in. Either that, or throw up. 

Was this auction really supposed to be "all in good fun"? Who had said that to him, anyway? 

A moment's thought revealed the answer: Jack O'Neill. 

Figured. 

Fraiser waited until the rowdiness settled down, then said into the microphone: "Any other bids?" Not surprisingly, there weren't any. "Going once." Fraiser rapped her gavel. "Going twice." Another rap, and a pause as she gazed out over the audience. Then she slammed down the gavel the third and final time. "Sold, for one thousand, four hundred dollars." 

A smug Jack O'Neill came up onto the stage to claim his expensive prize. He looked insufferably pleased with himself, even more so as Fraiser cocked a cynical brow and presented Makepeace to him. At least she didn't make a big production out of it, the way Shore had with the other auction victims. Still somewhat stunned, Makepeace followed O'Neill down the steps and back toward SG-1's table, where he was sure he would continue to have a very uncomfortable time. 

As they walked, O'Neill threw a companionable arm around his new "slave's" shoulders and affected a terrible Irish accent, saying, "Robbie, me lad, have I got a job for you." He grinned widely at Makepeace's wary expression. "You don't think I forked over that much dough to have you prune my hedges, do you?"

* * * * * * *  


Makepeace stood in a back room of the Hillside Community Center, staring out the window, watching the children run around the grounds looking for Easter eggs. They seemed to be having a good time. The weather had cooperated, and it was a glorious spring day out there: blue skies, soft drifting clouds, green grass, daffodils. The perfect day for an Easter party and egg hunt. He could almost appreciate it. 

He heard the door open and close behind him, and an obnoxious voice said, "Hey, what's the hold up, Robbie? You were supposed to be ready by now." 

Makepeace grimaced and glanced down at the fuzzy pink bunny costume he wore. It had a white tummy, oversized bunny feet, and--unfortunately--a fluffy white cottontail stuck right on his ass. He sighed heavily as he turned to face his tormentor, stepping carefully in the awkward footwear. "I am ready, Jack." 

"Ah, ah, ah. Not without these you're not." O'Neill pointed to the plastic rabbit nose and whiskers, the pink hood with floppy bunny ears, sitting on the table. 

With poor grace Makepeace snatched up the headgear. He gingerly seated the nose and whiskers on his face, adjusting the elastic cord that held them in place. Sighing again, he then pulled on the bunny hood. He could feel the ears flopping around with every bob of his head. They were damn uncomfortable. "Satisfied?" 

"Not yet." O'Neill grinned and handed him an enormous Easter basket filled with green cellophane grass, brightly colored candy eggs, jelly beans, and chocolate rabbits. "Now you look like the Easter Bunny." 

Makepeace rolled his eyes. "I'm so glad you approve." His sarcasm ended up too muffled by the bunny nose to be effective, and the twitching whiskers undermined it even more. 

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far." 

Makepeace muttered a choice insult, and O'Neill's smile grew even wider. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door with studied arrogance. "I am sooo getting my money's worth out of this," he gloated. 

"You must have a real boring life, if you think this is worth fourteen hundred bucks." 

O'Neill chuckled. "It's not as interesting as yours is right now, at any rate. And yes, it's worth every single penny." He checked his watch. "Looks like it's just about show time." He opened the door with a sweeping flourish and said, "Your young groupies eagerly await." 

Makepeace scowled and headed for the door. O'Neill smirked and said, "Aw, buck up, Robbie. It's for a good cause, you know." He clapped an encouraging hand on Makepeace's shoulder. "Now get out there and bunny hop like a man." 

"Hmmph." Makepeace quirked a brow. Actually, now that he thought on it, that wasn't a half bad idea. Kids needed entertaining, after all, and once the sugar high kicked in, something would need to be done to keep the little darlings from tearing the place apart. 

On the way to the party, they passed through the kitchen. This terrifying place was populated by just about every woman stationed at the SGC, or so it seemed to His Fuzziness. Barb Shore was there, and Fraiser, plus several gate techs and scientists, and they all stopped what they were doing to stare at him and comment among themselves. The men present made themselves scarce, escaping into the hall before they got themselves in trouble. Cowards. 

Makepeace hadn't really thought about it before, but under the scrutiny of all those female eyes he suddenly became aware of that damn fuzzy cottontail swishing back and forth as he walked. He visualized the image it presented and winced. Could things get any more humiliating? 

Confirming his worst fears, a woman behind him said, "Ooooh, shake it, baby," in a stage whisper maliciously guaranteed to reach his ears. Several snickers broke out, and Doctor Shore made a crack about fertility symbols. 

Fine, they wanted a show, he'd give them a show. In a fit of perversity he did as requested and shook his ass, really getting that cottontail going. Laughter and noises of feminine appreciation greeted his efforts. It was both embarrassing and ego-boosting at the same time, and he had to admit that the attention was kind of fun when it came from a bunch of women ogling his efforts. No wonder some guys became male strippers. 

He tried a few more suggestive wriggles, just for the sake of experiment. Yep, same response. Jeeze, sometimes women were weird. Who knew they'd get such a kick out of a fuzzy pink bunny suit with a fluffy tail? He began to see advantages to being the Easter Bunny that he'd never even considered before. 

Doctor Lauren Hunt, a brunette civvie biologist with incredible blue eyes, sidled up to him and murmured, "Nice tail, Colonel." 

Oh, yeah, there were definite possibilities here. He winked at her and gave the tail in question a twirl. He was really getting the hang of that thing. 

"Knock it off, will ya?" O'Neill grumbled from his other side, taking his arm and hustling him to the door. "This is supposed to be a G-rated event. You're the Easter Bunny, for crying out loud." 

Leave it to Jack to be a killjoy. "You're just jealous." He smiled back at his audience. Shore, Hunt, and a couple other women blew him kisses. Ah, the joys of a little tail. He said as much to his keeper. 

O'Neill said, "Yeah, yeah. Just remember who's the boss today. Now behave." 

"Yes, master." 

Fraiser looked at the two of them and shook her head. "Are we ready to get started now?" she asked archly. 

Like she couldn't have stopped the show anytime she wanted. Makepeace grinned, and his plastic rabbit nose shifted and twitched. "If you're ready, I'm ready," was what he said. 

"Uh, huh." She cast her eyes heavenward, then went out into the rec room. 

Makepeace peeked after her. The large space was decorated with pastel streamers and balloons, with a table filled with sandwiches and snacks, punch and soda pop, set up on the side. The egg hunt was over, and everyone had come inside. Parents stood on the sidelines and munched off paper plates while their children raced around playing games. 

Fraiser moved to the center of the room and clapped her hands. "Okay, is everyone ready to meet the Easter Bunny?" 

She was answered by an enthusiastic and ear-splitting chorus of "Yes!" from all the children, and they clustered around her with anticipation. 

"All right, then let's see if we can lure him out of his rabbit hole." Someone started playing taped music, and Fraiser got the kids all singing "Here Comes Peter Cottontail." 

That was his cue. Makepeace adjusted the basket of goodies securely on his arm, waved to his female admirers one last time, and cheerfully hopped out to lavish chocolate and sugar upon the kids.

* * * * * * *  


He probably shouldn't have made Jack bunny hop, Makepeace thought as he dug yet another dandelion out of O'Neill's back yard. He sat back on his heels and wiped sweat from his forehead. A large pile of the yellow-flowered menace sat next to him, indicating just how many of the damned things he'd dug out of the back lawn alone. Did Jack go out of his way to cultivate these rotten weeds? 

A pity that Easter party had only lasted a few hours. Even after the necessary cleanup (which of course Jack had "volunteered" him for), there had been almost half a day to go before his tenure as O'Neill's "slave" ended. 

Just as he'd predicted, after eating too much junk food the kids had gotten wild and needed distracting, so he'd put together a bunny hopping conga line of children and adults alike. O'Neill hadn't been able to resist watching from the sidelines, so of course Makepeace had suggested he join in the fun. The opportunity for a little payback had been irresistible, and he'd uttered that tired old refrain, "But it's for the children," before he'd even stopped to consider the potential consequences. 

So now here he was, spending the remainder of the day doing whatever crappy jobs his "master" could think of as punishment. Ah, it was worth it. Anyway, the day would be over soon, he could take off, and Jack O'Neill could go back to doing his own damn chores. 

He pulled one last dandelion, dropped it onto the pile, and looked over the lawn. It now had a large number of holes in it, but the grass ought to grow in pretty quickly. Assuming, of course, that more dandelions didn't spring up first. That, however, would be O'Neill's problem. Makepeace wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving long smears of dirt on the denim, and stood up and stretched. Oh, Lordy, the kinks. He'd been bent over and kneeling way too long. He could already foresee a terrible backache in his near future. 

That thought elicited a lecherous smile. He'd milked the Easter Bunny angle for all it was worth, and now had in his possession several of the civilian ladies' phone numbers, including Lauren Hunt's and Barbie Shore's. He planned to make the most of the opportunities. Could be very interesting. Scientists were supposed to be into creative research and practical applications. 

Jack had really done him--and his social life--a huge favor. Makepeace couldn't wait to thank him. 

O'Neill called out a window, "Hey, Robbie, you about done with the weeding? I've got a clogged toilet in here that could really use your personal attention." 

In the interests of self-preservation, though, Makepeace decided that tomorrow would be soon enough to gloat.

_***** The End ***  
  
  
**_

_April, 2003  
_


End file.
